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  Her knowing smile wipes clean. Her eyes widen. Her lips part. Oh yes, Bailey. I signed that stupid contract, but that doesn’t erase these feelings. You’re wetting your bottom lip because you’re thinking the same thing I am. You’re desperate for it and I wish you could see the shade of pink on your cheeks right now.

  “Thank you for understanding, Dr. Russell.”

  I laugh and shake my head. I’m Dr. Russell again, like a name change will keep me at arm’s length.

  “Is that all?” I ask, brow arched.

  She shakes her head no then nods yes, turns, looks back. “Yes. Okay. Thank you for the dessert. I’m going to go now.”

  She starts walking.

  I tip forward, leaning out of the lounge. “The elevator is that way, Bailey.”

  She does an about-face. “Right. I knew that. I’m just going to…”

  She doesn’t finish her sentence before she promptly bolts. I laugh and turn back to finish my lunch.

  She won’t last another week.

  We finish up the surgery on Friday on time so Bailey doesn’t miss Josie’s doctor’s appointment. I offer her my car again, but she insists she doesn’t need it. It’s snowing outside, not a blizzard, but enough that I don’t like the idea of her and her sister waiting at a bus stop.

  I check the weather on my computer in my office, scowling when I see the little image of snowflakes falling from clouds every hour for the rest of the day.

  I curse and it must be pretty loud because Patricia pokes her head into my office. “What is it?”

  “Do we not pay Bailey enough? Why can’t she get a damn car?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She’s confused, for obvious reasons.

  I sigh and try to get back to my paperwork so I can get out of the office at a decent time. This is slightly hilarious on my part. I pretend like I want to hurry up and finish so I can leave and enjoy my life, but this is my life. In the last few years, I’ve spent more time in this office than I have at my house. I ignore that cold hard truth and forcefully open the file on my desk.

  For the next hour, I work for fleeting moments between checking the weather, looking at my phone, glancing out the window, and then chiding myself for being distracted. At this rate, I won’t finish my work until Monday.

  The office clears out. Patricia scolds me for staying late on her way out, and yet here I sit, throwing my toy basketball up in the air and catching it over and over again. It’s helping me think. Also, it’s keeping my hands occupied. For some insane reason, I have the urge to pick up the phone and call Bailey. Her cell phone number is in her file, which is still housed in my desk drawer. I wrote it down on a sticky note and stuck it to the edge of my computer screen. It’s taunting me.

  I want to check in and see if she got home okay.

  The phone call would be short, just a few seconds really.

  I reach for my phone and dial her number before I think better of it.

  She answers after a few rings.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice sounds different.

  “Bailey?”

  “No. This is Josie. Bailey’s in the shower. Who’s this?”

  I sit up and reposition a few papers on my desk, not sure how to proceed. I should hang up, but instead, I reply, “This is Dr. Russell.”

  “NO WAY. Hold on.” Then she tilts her head away from the phone and shouts, “BAILEY HURRY UP—YOUR HOT DOCTOR IS ON THE PHONE!”

  There’s rustling on her end and muffled conversation.

  “I don’t believe you,” Bailey says, clearly enough for me to hear. She must be out of the shower now. “You’re not funny.”

  “Oh my god. She thinks I’m playing a prank on her,” Josie says to me.

  “Josie, you’re not even that good at acting,” Bailey continues. “I know no one is on the phone.”

  Josie laughs. “I swear he is! Here.”

  There’s more rustling and I assume Josie is handing her the phone because a moment later, Bailey speaks, and it’s much easier to hear her now. “Ha ha, very funny,” she says, sounding confident she’s caught Josie in a lie. “Hello Dr. Russell, I’m so happy you called because I was just daydreaming about you in the shower.”

  I chuckle and she screams.

  “There is someone on the phone!” she shouts.

  “I told you!” Josie responds.

  Bailey clears her throat, attempting to compose herself. When she speaks again, it’s calm and measured. “Um, hello?”

  “Bailey? It’s Matt.”

  “Oh hello, Dr. Russell. Please ignore everything I just said. I was just joking about the, err…daydreaming.”

  I smirk and decide to go easy on her. “I was just calling to see if you got home okay in the snow.”

  “Really?” She seems shocked.

  “It looked like it was getting pretty bad out there,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. I look out the window and there’s not a hint of snow on the ground. It melted as quickly as it fell.

  “Yup. Safe and sound,” she says before speaking inaudibly to Josie. There’s a heavy groan and then a slammed door. “Sorry, I was just kicking my little sister out of my room.”

  I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling. “Does she answer your phone often?”

  “She doesn’t have a phone of her own, and she must have been browsing Instagram when you called. She’s obsessed with the Hadid sisters.”

  “Who?”

  “The models? Oh whatever. I won’t keep you. We’re back home. Thanks for checking in on me.”

  “Wait!” I don’t want her to hang up. “How did Josie’s appointment go?”

  She’s slow to respond, like she’s not quite sure she wants to. “Fine. Though she likes to complain about my cooking, she’s growing normally and all that. Did you honestly just call to talk about this stuff or is there something else?”

  Oh, you want the truth? The truth is that I’m alone in my office on a Friday night and maybe that used to be enough to satisfy me, but now suddenly, it’s not. I want to know what pajamas you’re going to put on now that you’re out of the shower. I want to know what you’ll make for dinner, if you’ll watch a movie after or if you’ll hang more candy canes on that stupid tree. I want to know what it feels like to kiss you again, but you won’t let me so I’m calling you under the guise of checking in and maybe I’m more transparent than I think because I don’t say any of this and I’m pretty sure you still hear it because your tone softens when you speak again.

  “Is everything okay, Matt?”

  I jerk forward and shake my head. “It’s fine. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

  I slam the phone down onto the receiver.

  Chapter 20

  BAILEY

  After Matt hangs up on me, Josie and I dissect his call from every possible angle.

  Maybe he just really wanted to make sure we got home okay.

  Maybe he had something important to tell me but he chickened out.

  Maybe it was just a friendly call, nothing more.

  Friendly. Friends. Friend. I suddenly hate the word in all its forms.

  I spend the rest of the weekend thinking of him when I shouldn’t be. I consider how nice it was for him to offer up his car and to let me leave early on Friday. I think of how sexy he sounded on the phone. His voice was rich and deep, unforgettable. I make homemade Boston cream pie, savoring it for as long as possible only because it reminds me of him. It’s stupid, I know. When Josie eats the last of it on Sunday night, I nearly weep.

  I think I’m losing it.

  I wonder if repressing sexual attraction can turn you into a crazy person.

  Honestly, if I’d known he would respect my wishes in regards to that contract, I would have thought about it a little more before I forced him to sign it. I was overwhelmed. A lot had happened in a short amount of time and maybe I was a little scared. I wanted a chance to assess the situation with a clear head, but my head is anything but
clear. If anything, it’s foggier than ever, filled with thoughts of Matt and our kiss and annoyance over the fact that he’s actually abiding by the terms of that phony contract.

  It’s Monday and we’re in the middle of operating and I’m trying very hard to keep my focus on the procedure, but it’s not easy. Today’s case is more routine than most. I could assist him with my eyes closed, which means my mind is wandering in ways it shouldn’t be. I want to know how Matt spent his weekend. He’s a handsome guy. His scrubs do nothing to dull the rugged, masculine strength pluming off him like smoke. In this setting, he’s a god. I wonder what women think of him out in the normal world. If he went to a bar, there’s no way he’d go home alone. The thought makes my stomach turn. I wonder if he ever visits Smooth Tony’s. It’s right across the street. I bet he goes there to unwind after a long day. After all, that’s where he was going to meet Cooper all those weeks ago.

  If he sat alone at the bar, women would flock to him. He’d have to beat them off with a stick.

  I feel queasy and suddenly I need answers.

  “Did you have a good weekend, Dr. Russell?” I ask, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  He eyes flick up to mine. The surgical glasses do nothing to temper his piercing blue gaze. “It was fine. Productive.”

  Productive?! What does that mean? Did he sleep with more than one woman? I feel faint.

  “Oh yeah?” I persist. “Did you get a lot of work done?”

  “Yes.” One word. I hate him. “Can you pass me that Bovie?”

  I do as he asks, but I still continue my quest because now I’m a dog with a bone.

  “Ah, well, that’s good. I bet you had plenty of time to unwind too…outside of the office.”

  His dark brow arches, but he continues to focus his attention on the patient. “It seems like you’re dancing around a question, so just ask it.”

  I shake my head. “No, no. Just trying to get a better sense for how you spend your free time. Y’know, trying to make pleasant conversation.”

  He follows that with a disinterested hum and nothing more.

  By the end of the surgery, I’m a ball of anxiety and repressed rage. If he spent his weekend with another woman, I want to know about it. NO. I don’t, I tell myself. I’m going crazy. I made him sign a contract outlining all the ways he could not touch or flirt or kiss me, and now I’m the one outraged at the idea of him touching, flirting, or kissing another woman. I’m aware that I’ve done this to myself, but what does that matter because when I finish scrubbing out and walk into the hallway, I spot him chatting with a pretty nurse.

  Oh god. I’m going to throw up.

  I really am. She’s put together in a way I’ll never be for a standard work day—curled hair, loads of mascara. I self-consciously tighten my ponytail as I continue toward them. I wish I could turn in the opposite direction, but they’re right by the elevators and the stairwell is creepy as hell, so I steel myself, square my shoulders, and continue walking.

  She steps closer to him and drops her voice to say something, and my gaze flicks over in time to see Matt smile down at her. Considering how few smiles he’s aimed at me in all our time together, I want to punch a hole in the wall.

  I had no idea this hallway was so long. I can’t speed up because it’ll look too obvious, but I swear I’m walking on a treadmill going nowhere. Maybe I could just sort of half-sprint, half-skip and no one would notice?

  The nurse’s hand touches his forearm and where is his white coat?! Usually he’s in a suit or his surgical gown. Now, he’s just wearing those navy scrubs and she could drag her hand up and down his tan arm if she wanted to. Maybe she already has. My face is a mask of horror at the thought.

  I get within earshot and hear her say in a coy, flirty voice, “I was so surprised to see you there.”

  His response is inaudible.

  My hands fist and I march right up to the elevators and press that button so hard my thumb aches. For good measure, I push it another dozen times.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” I murmur under my breath.

  An imposing presence comes to stand beside me. Matt’s scent makes my chest tighten. He’s just a teensy bit closer than he should be. I stare straight ahead at the brushed steel reflecting our distorted images back at us. He stays perfectly still. There’s nothing but silence. I wonder if he can sense how worked up I am. I have to force my fists to unclench. The numbers on the elevator blink in slow descension, and finally, the doors slide open.

  I step inside and he follows. When the doors swoop closed, there’s not an ounce of oxygen left in the small space.

  We’re the only two people in here. I press the button for the seventh floor and he presses nothing. I hole up in the corner, cross my arms, and stare straight ahead.

  Matt turns as well so I’m only granted a view of his back. He’s as cool as a cucumber. I wonder what he’s thinking about—her, no doubt.

  I’m shaking with jealous rage. I’ve never felt like this. I didn’t know it was possible to be so worked up over something so little, and that only makes me angrier. I hate that I’ve turned into this person over a man who’s clearly so uninterested he won’t even turn around and address me.

  I clench my teeth and snarky, antagonistic words fall out of me. “Honestly, if you’re going to flirt with hospital staff, can you do it somewhere a little more private? Anyone could have seen you. It’s just not really that professional.”

  He emits a little chuckle and shakes his head. His gaze stays pinned straight ahead.

  Apparently, my remark isn’t even worth a response.

  “Where was she surprised to see you?” I ask, trying to engage him again.

  The elevator dings, halts, and the doors slide open. A few people step in, and we’re not at our floor yet, but our privacy is gone. My question lingers in the air between us, and now I have no hope of an answer. My heart is racing and there’s no doubt everyone in the small space feels the tension simmering between us. I catch sight of a woman watching me, and I wonder if she can tell I’m currently in the throes of a jealous rage.

  The elevator can’t arrive on the seventh floor fast enough and when those doors slide open, I nearly tumble out, anxious for freedom. I gulp in a breath of air as if someone’s been holding my head under water. A hand hits my elbow and I’m tugged painfully to the side of the hall, dragged inside what looks to be a supply closet. The door slams closed behind us. A mop gets wedged carefully beneath the door handle so no one can come in…and no one can get out.

  Matt turns to me and I take a hesitant step back. With only a little light filtering in from the hallway, his hard jaw and sharp features seem menacing and cruel. I’m standing in front of a ruthless surgeon—the man who makes grown men cry, the man who terrifies everyone who crosses his path.

  “You made me sign that contract, Bailey,” he says, stepping closer. “You insisted you wanted nothing from me, so why are you acting like this? Like you’re jealous?”

  My eyes widen. “I’m not!”

  It’s the most pathetic, transparent lie I’ve ever told. I’m a toddler with scissors and choppy bangs proclaiming she has no idea who cut her hair.

  “You asked me what I did this weekend. Why do you want to know?”

  I look away. “I already told you—I was making small talk.”

  “You’re lying.” I’ve never heard his voice quite so hard and challenging. “I ran into that nurse at the grocery store. She was shopping with her husband and daughter.”

  My cheeks burn and I desperately hope it’s too dark in this tiny room for him to notice.

  He takes another step forward and I hold up my hands as if to block him.

  “I thought maybe you two were flirting,” I admit, though it seems a bit too late for honesty.

  “And if we were?” he asks, his tone as unyielding as it was a moment ago.

  He has me wedged against a hard metal shelf. It digs into my back. Any moment now someone will need to get into this sup
ply closet and notice that the door is jammed. The handle will shake and my heart will leap into my throat.

  “Matt,” I plead, suddenly genial and forgiving. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself get so worked up over nothing. It was immature. I realize that. Now let me by and I promise I won’t do it again.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts into a menacing smirk.

  My insides liquify.

  “Bailey,” he says, reaching out to hook his finger underneath my chin. He tips my head up just a bit so my mouth is lifted to his.

  I’m a shaking ball of anxiety at what he’s about to do. He can’t kiss me again. I’m still coming apart at the seams after the first one.

  “I’d kiss you right now if I could.” My chest is heaving as he continues speaking. No amount of air is enough air. “I’d bend down, just like this—”

  His mouth hovers over mine. I feel the barest touch of his lips. Every hair on my body stands on end. My hands reach back and grip the metal shelf because without it, I feel like I’ll float away.

  “You want a kiss as badly as I do, and that’s why you’re wetting your bottom lip right now. That’s why you’re brushing your hips against mine.” I immediately stop doing both of those things. “Your every desire is written across your face. This face…”

  I stand perfectly still as he leans back and drags a finger around the edge of my forehead, down the curve of my cheek and chin, until he reaches the nape of my neck, and then lower…right to the V neckline of my scrub top. If he flattened his palm, my heart would corroborate his every word.

  “You’re flushed,” he says as his smile turns condescending.

  “And you’re wrong,” I insist, voice quivering. “You think I want you to kiss me? I’m terrified of you.” His eyes spark as I continue, “You have all the power. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll be the one forced to find another job. When gossip spreads through the office, you’ll look like a playboy and I’ll look like the surgical assistant who couldn’t keep her legs closed. I’m not going down this road until I’m absolutely certain it’s what I want.”